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Updated: June 24, 2025
Bennington flushed. As a de Laney, the girls he had known had always taken him seriously. He disliked being made fun of. "This is nonsense," he objected, with some impatience. "I must know where it came from." In the background of his consciousness still whirled the moil of his wonder and bewilderment. He clung to the claim stake as a stable object.
The angel's a deal too perfect to know sympathy with faults and blunders. I tell you, Little Statue, life is only moil and toil, unless love transmutes the base metal of hard duty into the pure gold of unalloyed delight." "That's why I tremble. I must do more than angel or star!
De selfish man would rader dan put out his hand to work, Let women toil, an' sweat and moil as wicked as de Turk. De cream ob eberyt'ing he wants, let oders hab de skim; In fact de wurld and all it holds was only made for him. Chorus Oh when de sun, etc. So keep de ball a-rollin', boys, an' each one do his best To make de wurld a happy one for dat's how man is blest.
This kind of life the cheerless gloom of a hermit with the unceasing moil of a galley-slave, brought me to my sixteenth year; a little before which period I first committed the sin of rhyme. You know our country custom of coupling a man and woman together as partners in the labours of harvest. In my fifteenth autumn, my partner was a bewitching creature, a year younger than myself.
Having some gift in imitating the Scotch dialect, I read: "November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh; The shortening winter day is near a close; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh; The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose: The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, This night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his spades, his mattocks and his hoes, Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend."
Pinchot in respect to his subject was a fine political inventor. But routine forced him out into what? into the moil and toil of fighting for offices, and there he has cut a poor figure indeed. You may say that he has had to spend his energy trying to find a chance to use his power. What a wanton waste of talent is that for a civilized nation!
The boy read thus, with his eyes, as I say, full on the text: "Chav a doffed my cooat. How shall I don't? Chav a washed my veet. How shall I moil 'em?" I shall add to this another piece as diverting, which also happened in my knowledge at this very town of Yeovil, though some years ago.
"Ay, an' we're a' coontin' on gangin' there; but it's a prood thing to hae yer banes put awa' in Greyfriars, ance ye're through wi' 'em!" "Nae doubt the gude auld man would rather be alive on the Pentland braes than dead in Greyfriars." "Ay," the farmer admitted. "He was fair fond o' the hills, an' no' likin' the toon. An', moil, he was a wonder wi' the lambs.
So drugs and sweet woods, where they are, cannot but yield great profit. Soap-ashes likewise, and other things that may be thought of. But moil not too much under ground; for the hope of mines is very uncertain, and useth to make the planters lazy, in other things.
We don't moil and toil to ourselves alone; the palace or the poor-house is not merely for ourselves, but for our children, whom we've brought up in the superstition that having and shining is the chief good. We dare not teach them otherwise, for fear they may falter in the fight when it comes their turn, and the children of others will crowd them out of the palace into the poor-house.
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